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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23657149">Can you make me a lasagna, David?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/petrodobreva/pseuds/petrodobreva'>petrodobreva</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon-Compliant, M/M, Marital fluff, Post-Finale, anon prompt from tumblr, david cooking, david doing his very best</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 23:07:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,972</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23657149</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/petrodobreva/pseuds/petrodobreva</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>David has some fresh ricotta and is feeling a little brave. He remembers a request his husband once made while high on anesthetic.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Marcy Brewer &amp; David Rose, Patrick Brewer/David Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>186</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Can you make me a lasagna, David?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my first fic for Schitt's Creek and my first on AO3. I got the following prompt on Tumblr and here we are.</p><p>Anon: David makes Patrick lasagna in their new kitchen with Marcy's help via FaceTime.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>“Can you make me a lasagna, David?”</em>
</p><p>David chuckles to himself at the memory before sighing and turning on the ignition. He was just leaving Heather’s, where he was sampling some new cheeses, including a delectable full-fat ricotta they had spread on a country loaf with fresh peaches and drizzles of honey. He’s leaving with a cooler full of goat cheese, ricotta, bleu cheese, mozzarella, and cheddar.</p><p>He wonders if he could do it. Make a lasagna. He feels his insides buzz with excitement and trepidation at the idea. Patrick loves his mom’s lasagna, and they have hardly had a chance to visit Clint and Marcy all year. It would almost definitely be a disaster. It could also be really good.</p><p>He pulls out his phone and sends a text to his mother-in-law.</p><p><strong>David: </strong>Hi Marcy! Could you send me your lasagna recipe?</p><p>He plugs his phone in, clicks on his playlist for the month, drops his phone on the passenger seat, and pulls the car out of its spot.</p><p>After a while, he hears his phone buzz. He hazards a glance and sees that Marcy’s gotten back to him. Something inside of David has already decided, he’s definitely going to think about making a lasagna today.</p><p>After all, if he’s going to do this, now’s as good a time as any. Patrick was already going to be at the store by himself all day since David was doing vendor runs. Today is also the day he’s got a bunch of fresh cheese. Before he heads all the way into town, David takes a detour to Brebner’s.</p><p>He opens Marcy’s text and sees that it’s a link to an Ina Garten recipe, and he chuckles to himself again.</p><p><strong>Marcy: </strong>I use this one. I love roasted eggplant.</p><p><strong>Marcy: </strong>Are you going to try to make it?</p><p>David blushes.</p><p><strong>David: </strong>Maybe. I really can’t cook to save my life.</p><p>He doesn’t have to wait long before the little bubbles show up to indicate she’s texting back.</p><p><strong>Marcy: </strong>Lasagna is a good place to start. It really doesn’t involve all that much work, just a lot of ingredients. Call me if you need anything.</p><p>David gets all gooey and warm inside and he can feel a little squeeze in his chest. Something about her affirmation steels him to go forward.</p><p><strong>David: </strong>&lt;3</p><p>He opens the recipe and takes out his notebook to write all the ingredients down for a grocery list. His phone buzzes again with another text from Marcy.</p><p><strong>Marcy: </strong>And it’s vegetarian, so you don’t have to worry about food poisoning!</p><p>He writes everything the recipe asks for <em>eggplant, zucchini, olive oil, dried oregano, kosher salt, black pepper, minced garlic, De Cecco lasagna noodles, eggs, basil, marinara sauce</em>.</p><p>He draws a line underneath those ingredients and then writes <em>ricotta, mozzarella, parmesan, goat cheese, wine</em></p><p>He double-checks the list again, comparing it to the recipe</p><p><strong>David: </strong>Do I have to use garlic and herb goat cheese? I have some fresh ricotta from one of our vendors.</p><p><strong>Marcy: </strong>No, good ingredients make good lasagna. Just add some garlic to the cheese mix while you’re making it.</p><p>David doesn’t really know what that means, so he just focuses on the part he understands. The “no” part.</p><p>He crosses out <em>zucchini </em>and writes it again below the line, he crosses out <em>parmesan</em> and puts it at the top of the list.</p><p>It takes him a full six times around the store, and one trip back to get a cart after his hands got full, but he eventually gets everything he needs. He’s already exhausted. He got the recommended marinara sauce but not the DeCecco lasagna noodles. Marcy said it was fine to use the store brand when he called her.</p><p>The next stop is the Apothecary. Knowing that he has a secret plan hikes up his anxiety a little, and he feels his insides buzzing even more while he tries to remember to pick up the cooler with his knees instead of his back.</p><p>Patrick sees him coming and, as is customary, stays back and watches David’s awkward approach. David has to put the cooler down on the stoop so he can open the door. He can practically feel Patrick’s shit-eating grin on him as he holds the door open with his butt when as he drags the cooler into the store.</p><p>He stands up and stares at his husband.</p><p>“Hello David,” Patrick calls from in front of the counter, grin placed just where it’s supposed to be. “How’s your day going?”</p><p>David does a little <em>plié </em>squat move while gesturing silently to the cooler at his feet. “You could help you know.”</p><p>“And deprive you of your bi-weekly exercise routine?” Patrick quips and then goes back to walking around the store adjusting displays and whistling to himself. In other words, being completely unhelpful.</p><p>David groans. <em>Just for that, no lasagna</em>, he thinks about saying. He picks up the cooler again, but only to knee height and waddles over to the fridge. Patrick, mercifully, holds back what David is sure is a chuckle.</p><p>After putting the cheese in the fridge and the cooler in the back room, he grabs a tote and gives himself some ricotta, mozzarella, and goat cheese. He looks around and grabs a zucchini, and then mentally kicks himself because he realizes he could have gotten basil and garlic here as well, instead of Brebner’s.</p><p>“What are you doing?” Patrick asks when he sees that David’s shopping.</p><p>David deflects, “Did you know that our zucchini is basically the same price as at Brebner’s?”</p><p>“Oh?” Patrick responds.</p><p>“Yeah, I was literally just there. I think this calls for a price adjustment.”</p><p>“How much?”</p><p>“Well, they’re 69 cents each…”</p><p>“So, what, like, 50?”</p><p>“No, I was thinking more like a dollar.” David gestures widely again. “Ours are <em>organic</em>.”</p><p>Patrick smiles softly. “Oh, that’s nice.”</p><p>A beat passes between them as David takes a moment to bask in the glow of Patrick’s pride. <em>Maybe he can have a little lasagna.</em></p><p>“Let’s start with 80 and see how that goes, hmm?”</p><p>“82.”</p><p>“Okay, David.”</p><p>David sighs with satisfaction and walks over to Patrick and presses a kiss to his lips, the bantering portion of their interaction over. He puts his arm around Patrick’s shoulders and hands him a piece of paper. “Here’s the inventory sheet for the cheese, and you should put it in right now because I’m taking some home.”</p><p>“David…”</p><p>“And before you mark up the zucchini, I’m taking some of that too.”</p><p>“Oh, so you’re actually going to pay for it, then?”</p><p>“And a bottle of red.”</p><p>Patrick raises his eyebrows. “And what, exactly, are you planning on doing with fresh cheeses, two zucchini and a bottle of wine?”</p><p>“Wouldn’t you like to know.”</p><p>“I would,” Patrick mumbles, nuzzling his lips into David’s neck.</p><p>“Well, I’m not going to tell you,” David quips. “But I definitely think you should get a pizza after you close because I guarantee that’s what’s for dinner.”</p><p>“I’m sorry. After <em>I </em>close?”</p><p>“Yes,” David says, “because I’m trying to do something nice for you and, unfortunately, we have the same work conflicts. So, you should stay here and take care of the store while I’m feeling spontaneous and generous.”</p><p>Patrick squeezes David’s waist and holds him tight while David’s anxiety about cooking starts up again.</p><p>Back at the house, David takes everything he bought out of the bag and lays it out on the kitchen island. Their kitchen hasn’t been renovated since the ‘90s and since it opens up right into the den, it’s a highly visible part of the house. Patrick said they could renovate eventually, but only after saving up and they’re still another year away from where they need to be.</p><p>Regardless, David has had enough fun available to him. He had all the walls painted, the floors refinished, and he’s still in the process of interior design. The first floor is all clean warmth, with creams and dark browns with reddish undertones. They found a great sofa online and some beautiful accent chairs at an estate sale. Patrick’s set from the apartment was too small, but the sofa is in their bedroom now along with one of the chairs, the coffee table Jake made is next to a window, now acting as a plant stand for a fern and an aloe.</p><p>They still need to find the right dining table and chairs, and since they hope people will come for Thanksgiving this year, they have a deadline.</p><p>David looks at his phone and opens the recipe again.</p><p>It says to preheat the oven to 375 degrees.</p><p>
  <em>Crap!</em>
</p><p>David calls Marcy and puts her on speaker.</p><p>“Hello dear,” she picks up immediately.</p><p>“Hi Marcy,” David speaks shyly, as he usually does when speaking with his in-laws. It took him 8 months of marriage to finally stop calling her Mrs. Brewer, so he feels good about that. “How do I preheat an oven?”</p><p>“Oh, to what temperature?”</p><p>“It says 375.”</p><p>“Fahrenheit or Celsius?”</p><p>“Fahrenheit.”</p><p>She chuckles. “I know, 375 Celsius would be <em>way</em> too hot for anything. 375 Fahrenheit is about 190 Celsius, so go to the oven, actually, can you call me with video so I can see the oven?”</p><p>David’s nerves act up again since they have never FaceTimed before. He braces himself for this new level of intimacy.</p><p>“Sure,” he says and presses the button.</p><p>It takes them a couple of tries, but he eventually has the oven on and has learned that it will beep when it gets up to temperature.</p><p>“Did you read the whole recipe?” she asks.</p><p>“No, I was just going with step one, which isn’t even over yet!” David lets out a squawk that he usually tries to keep under control around her.</p><p>She just smiles. “The first rule of reading a recipe is to read the whole thing before you do anything else.”</p><p>The blood runs out of David’s face. “Should I turn off the oven?”</p><p>“Nope, you can leave it on, it won’t do anything. Maybe open it to check there isn’t something in there already.”</p><p>“Oh! Good idea! I think Patrick sometimes stores the big dishes in there.” He opens the oven and finds that he’s right. He shows Marcy.</p><p>“Oh, perfect! That can be your lasagna dish. Yep, Patrick gets that particular storage habit from me, I’m afraid. You two have a much larger kitchen, though, I’m sure you could find another place to store it.”</p><p>David blushes. “It’s not that much bigger…”</p><p>“Oh honey, it’s okay, it is, and I love it!”</p><p>David smiles and says softly, “okay.”</p><p>“Okay, so read the recipe!”</p><p>David does, peppering Marcy with questions and concerns periodically.</p><p>“It says I’m supposed to soak the noodles, what should I soak them in?”</p><p>“I don’t know if we have an electric mixer.”</p><p>“Is this olive oil good?”</p><p>“Oh God, I don’t think we have a pepper grinder! I got whole peppercorns!”</p><p>“Okay, I definitely don’t have enough zucchini.”</p><p>“How do I cut the eggplant into slices ¼ inch thick?”</p><p>“We don’t have three sheet pans, I don’t think. Just the one!”</p><p>Marcy is the very soul of patience. She helps him find other dishes in which to roast the veggies, tells him to just go with chunks if big slices are too hard, helps him with the timing of things, warns him against using an electric blender for the first time unsupervised. She walks him through it all while cooing at him and calling him things like, “honey” and “sweetheart.”</p><p>Meanwhile, David’s voice is getting louder, and his face contorts into various shapes of pain and distress.</p><p>In a big bowl, he’s supposed to be mixing a ricotta cheese blend. The first bowl he uses is too small, and he curses while transferring everything to a bigger bowl. He’s starting to have flashbacks about another cheese he was coerced into trying years ago.</p><p>Panicked “Ah. Ah.” sounds are coming out of him, now having lost most of his inhibitions.</p><p>“Good job, honey!” Marcy offers, trying to help.</p><p>When it gets to the part about layering, David really starts to panic when the oven starts beeping. “Oh my God, the eggplant!” He lets out a whine.</p><p>He almost burns himself on the trays and baking dish, when Marcy reminds him about oven mitts. Since he used the big baking dish to roast some of the eggplant, he has to let it cool before he can use it to layer the lasagna.</p><p>“Okay, this is how we’re going to do it, okay, David? You’re going to get a regular cereal bowl for the mozzarella and a cutting board. Rinse off your knife.”</p><p>“Hold on! Slow down!” David rinses off the knife he used for the eggplant and zucchini. “Okay, now what?”</p><p>By some miracle, the cheese eventually gets cut up, the noodles (now a little too soggy), get into the dish, and David starts layering. He puts too much sauce in the first layer, but Marcy tells him it’s okay.</p><p>There’s so much of Marcy in Patrick. In the patience, the generosity, the soft eyes. Marcy is like if Patrick were a 65-year-old woman and didn’t have any of the sarcasm or competitiveness.</p><p>Not for the first time during this endeavor, David is feeling overwhelmed and he can feel tears prickling behind his eyes.</p><p>“Take a deep breath, honey,” Marcy says. “It’s all going to turn into one gloppy mess at the end anyway, it’s lasagna.”</p><p>David let’s out a sharp breath and teary-eyes smile. “Okay,” he sniffs.</p><p>He gets three layers of lasagna into the dish. It’s not even like in the picture, but it’s done, and David really can’t get himself to care about aesthetics right now.</p><p>“Okay, now just sprinkle the parmesan on top and you’re done!”</p><p>“Done?”</p><p>“Well, then you have to put it in the oven. But yes!”</p><p>David feels like doing even one more step might kill him. He looks at the block of parmesan he bought and shows it to Marcy. “I don’t know how to sprinkle this.”</p><p>“Oh, well, you need a grater. Are you sure you don’t have grated parmesan already in the fridge?”</p><p>David’s eyes widen in delight, remembering the green tub that they use for spaghetti and pizza nights. “Yes! I think we do!” He finds it in the fridge door. “Thank <em>fuck</em> for my beautiful husband!” He looks at Marcy and blanches. “Oh, sorry.”</p><p>She just chuckles. “No worries, honey.”</p><p>He sprinkles the parmesan on, slides the lasagna into the oven, and sets a timer both on his phone and on the oven for good measure.</p><p>He collapses on the couch. “Oh my God, Marcy, thank you so much! You have no idea how clueless I am when it comes to this stuff.”</p><p>“Oh, I think I have some idea now,” she says. So, maybe she has <em>some</em> of Patrick’s sarcasm. David rolls his eyes. “But I am so happy to help. Thank you for calling me. I love seeing your face and hearing your voice.</p><p>David feels like he might tear up again. “You too.”</p><p>“When does Patrick get home?”</p><p>David looks at the time on his phone. “About two hours.”</p><p>“Okay, that’s an hour after it’ll be done. So, when you take it out of the oven, <em>with oven mitts</em>,” she warns, “carefully cover it with aluminum foil so that it doesn’t get too cold before dinner.”</p><p>David thinks for a second. “I might call you again.”</p><p>“That’s just fine, dear.”</p><p>Two hours later, Patrick finds David asleep on the couch, a sink full of dirty dishes, and countertops covered in cooking debris.</p><p>David is startled awake by the feeling of Patrick crawling on top of him. “Oh my god!” David yelps. “You scared me!”</p><p>Patrick nuzzles his face into David’s neck, and electricity runs down David’s spine when he feels wet kisses pressed into his sensitive skin. “Did you make me dinner, David?” Patrick’s pressing him into the couch now.</p><p>“No,” David sighs. After a beat, he allows, “I merely acted as a vessel for The Barefoot Contessa and your mother.”</p><p>“My mother?”</p><p>“Yeah, she basically walked me through the whole thing,” David admits.</p><p>“Great!” Patrick lifts himself up so he can look at David full-on.</p><p>“Mkay, that was a <em>little </em>too enthusiastic?”</p><p>“Oh, you’re right, I should really have more faith in you.” Patrick bends down to drop a quick peck on David’s lips. “Especially after you did such a good job with the peanut butter and jellies last week.”</p><p>“Some of my best work.”</p><p>They stare at each other, Patrick grinning, David pouting. “Thank you, David.” Patrick’s voice is soft again. He pulls himself up. “Let’s eat!” he says, offering his hands to David, “I’m hungry.”</p><p>“<em>You’re </em>hungry?” David says, allowing himself to be pulled up.</p><p>In the end, they have to microwave their portions and Patrick has to make a salad and the noodles were over-soaked, but even David has to admit, it is edible.</p><p>“And you’ll do it even better next time!” Patrick proclaims.</p><p>“Ugh, next time?”</p><p>“Yes, David, next time. And next time you’ll use even fewer dishes and you’ll know not to over-soak the noodles and it’ll be great!” He continues, “Just next time, you don’t need to buy a whole other bottle of olive oil or box of salt or whole black peppercorns for the pepper grinder we don’t have.”</p><p>David narrows his eyes.</p><p>Patrick smiles softly. “And next time we’ll do it together.”</p><p>David sighs. “Maybe try encouraging me next week? I don’t think I can really take it right now,” he stretches his arms above his head. Everything hurts. “I’m exhausted, I’m going to bed.”</p><p>Patrick smirks. “But what about the dishes?”</p><p>David narrows his eyes again. “In your dreams.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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